


Reinventing the Flightless Bird

by triggerswaggiehavoc



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Chance Meetings, Cheesy, Lots of it, M/M, Mild Language, Origami, Parental Issues, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 10:24:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8485732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triggerswaggiehavoc/pseuds/triggerswaggiehavoc
Summary: Wonwoo already knows that folding paper is not as simple as it looks, but the boy in the library still takes every opportunity to show him exactly how.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [allthatconfetti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthatconfetti/gifts).



> AO3 USER ALLTHATCONFETTI!!!!!!! CAT!!!!!!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!! i have been so eager to post this for like an entire week because i finished it too damn early and i very much hope you like it!! you are the SWEETEST EVER and u deserve the BEST DAY IN THE WORLD and i hope this helps even just a little bit!!

When the bell rings and Wonwoo’s finally free to rush to the parking lot and make his escape to the comfort of home, there are a number of paths he can take: downstairs through the courtyard; upstairs across those weird, metal structures connecting the buildings on the second floor; and downstairs again, by the library. There are a great many reasons he does not typically take the path by the library—to name a few, it’s always crowded, and it also sports the greatest concentration of teachers to spot him if he’s ducked out of class a few minutes early—but some days, such as today, he’s forced into it.

The order of amount of outdoor exposure that comes with each route, from least to greatest, looks like this: upstairs, library, courtyard. The upstairs building connectors have inbuilt roofs, so when the sky is letting out an entire angsty teen youth’s worth of tears like it is on this fine Tuesday afternoon, this is the way the majority of the student body chooses to go. And of course they would, because there is not one high school student who enjoys having their clothes soaked through in a downpour. The downfall of this mass migration to one path, though, is that the halls are only so wide, and forward progress is almost nonexistent, leaving everyone standing around in the halls for ten minutes wondering why nobody is going anywhere. Wonwoo refuses to fall prey to this phenomenon.

About 50% of the way that goes by the library is outdoors, so he won’t be staying as dry as the rest of his peers, but he’ll make it to his car before he’s forty, and that’s what counts. If he were completely reckless and had no regard for the wellbeing of his clothes or the contents of his backpack, he might chance the courtyard route like some enigmatic fools always do, but today, when he looks out the window and sees how viciously the raindrops are trying to make holes in the concrete, he figures he’ll just go by the library.

He does like the library even if he doesn’t spend much time there of his own volition. There’s something comforting about being surrounded by towering bookshelves filled to the brim, and he never likes any class days better than the odd few where they’re displaced to the library to learn how to cite a source or spot a sketchy URL or something else they should already know how to do by senior year. It might even be nice to sit among the shelves and watch the rain pelt the big window facing the school’s lawn, listen to the droplets trying to beat their way in from the other side of the glass, but Wonwoo can’t afford to risk it. If he takes one step in there, he’s as good as stuck, and he can kiss his hopes of a quick exit from the parking lot goodbye.

As he strides by the library entrance, half-soaked from walking outside to get here, he hazards a glance inside. Doing so turns out to be a big mistake, because he stops dead in his tracks the moment he spots a boy sitting at one of the tables within. He looks like he might be building something on the table, but his hands are obscured by his backpack. _Don’t go in there_ , Wonwoo tells himself. _You know you’re just a sucker for a pretty face_. Wonwoo tries to listen to his own advice, but there is a classic disconnect between his thought process and the will of his legs, so he walks through the door anyway.

His brain neglects to think of something to say in the time it takes him to approach the occupied table, so when he gets there, all he does is stare awkwardly at the boy in the chair. The guy looks at him hesitantly when he notices Wonwoo’s approach, and when Wonwoo remembers how unfriendly his resting expression is, he’s sure this kid probably thinks he’s about to get punched in the face or at least needlessly insulted. He thinks of attempting to put on a smile, but he’s already gone too long without one, so there’s not really a point.

“What?” the boy says to him. His voice is inherently pleasant, but his tone isn’t. Wonwoo thinks his face almost looks like it was made to smile, but he isn’t wearing one, lips instead set in a hard line. His eyes look sharp, perceptive, like they’ll catch any stray move Wonwoo makes, and he gulps. It’s exactly like he told himself: he’s a sucker for a pretty face.

“What are you doing?” Wonwoo asks eventually, not much a fan of the uncomfortable silence settling between them. He wishes he could just rewind his life a few minutes and pointedly avoid looking into the library, march backwards out the door and pretend he never even came in, but such dreams are hopelessly doomed to remain as such.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” the guy asks. His fingers are poised over a square of red paper, but they haven’t moved an inch since Wonwoo walked up, which is not aiding him very much in figuring out what he’s up to.

“Why would I ask if I could tell?” Wonwoo asks in return, vaguely annoyed. The boy’s lips twitch ever so slightly into the most meager hint of a smirk.

“Fair point,” he says, then proceeds to fold the piece of paper from corner to corner and flatten it, pressing down over the crease. He flips it the other way and does the same thing. “I’m making cranes.”

“Cranes?” Wonwoo can’t see why, especially today of all days, when they’ll just get ruined by the rain the second he steps foot outside. “What for?”

“You sure have a lot of questions,” he muses, flipping the paper to the white side and folding it in half again. Wonwoo doesn’t think that’s a fair accusation considering he’s really only asked two. “They say if you fold a thousand cranes, you can get a wish granted,” he explains anyway, bringing the corners together to make a diamond out of the paper. “Or good luck,” he adds on. “I could use either.”

“What do you need those for?” The boy looks up at him curiously, momentarily halting the production of the crane.

“Is that a question you would answer coming from someone whose name you don’t even know?”

“I guess not,” Wonwoo shrugs. “I’m Wonwoo.”

“Soonyoung.” He continues folding, bringing his eyes back down to the paper. “You can sit down, if you want to.”

Wonwoo does not want to. His car is waiting for him in the parking lot, and he’s only mostly sure he rolled the windows up this morning. Each minute he wastes puts the pack trapped in the upstairs corridors one minute closer to making their break into freedom, and the whole lot’s doomed to be a mess after that. He either leaves now or curses himself to a brutal twenty minutes of trying to make it out of the parking lot, a hell of its own. Knowing this, he leaves promptly.

Or, he _should_ have left promptly, but he instead pulls out a chair and drops into it to watch Soonyoung finish making the crane. He doesn’t move very fast, but the folds are all crisp and perfectly lined up, and Wonwoo’s about sure he could never get it to look so good. When he pulls out the little wings and sets it down, it almost looks like it could fly away. Soonyoung grabs the next slip of paper on the stack, a green one, and starts on the next crane immediately.

“How do you make those?” Wonwoo thinks to ask once he starts the third one, and Soonyoung flicks his eyes up from his task.

“Want me to teach you?” Wonwoo was definitely right about his voice being naturally nice; it’s warmed up considerably since he sat down, and he can’t put his finger on exactly why that might be except for Wonwoo probably seems a lot less hostile when he’s sitting down rather than towering over the table.

“If that’s okay,” he says, and Soonyoung’s eyes crinkle when he slides a pale yellow square across the tabletop. _If only that smile could make it to the bottom of his face_ , Wonwoo thinks. He’d love to see it.

“Okay,” he begins brightly. The rain picks up at that moment, slamming into the side of the building and almost drowning his voice out. Wonwoo had almost forgotten the weather. “First, keep the colored side up and fold it in half so it’s a triangle.” Wonwoo watches Soonyoung do it first so he doesn’t screw up; everyone always thinks he must be dexterous because his fingers are long and thin, but he shudders when he recalls how horribly he mangled the yarn every time he tried to make a simple cat’s cradle as a child.

“Like this?” Wonwoo says hesitantly once it’s halved, and Soonyoung narrows his eyes a little bit.

“Yeah,” he hums uncertainly, “but that’s kinda crooked. The crane won’t turn out right if you don’t fix it.” Wonwoo tries his best, but he can’t quite get the edges to line up straight and Soonyoung’s already continuing his instruction.

After a painful few minutes of shoddy folding, Soonyoung ends up with a beautiful paper bird, and Wonwoo finds in his hands a disgrace to cranes as a whole. The sight of them beside each other is laughable, Wonwoo’s a mutated disappointment and Soonyoung’s pristine and sharp, a paragon of avian existence. Wonwoo almost wishes Soonyoung would laugh, but he just frowns at the ugly attempt like it’s an obnoxious child he’s been forced to babysit.

“You’re really bad at this,” Soonyoung muses quietly. “Like, crazy bad.”

“Crane-zy bad,” Wonwoo spits out without thinking. There’s a small delay before he follows with, “Shit.”

It’s been a long and arduous process of his friends and family trying to break his brain out of that, trying to steer him away from randomly spouting puns and toward making normal comments that would be appropriate for everyday conversation, but he still finds himself forgetting constantly. He typically fails to realize he’s slipped up until he hears the chorus of groans, but this time he notices it immediately, so all he has left to do is wait for Soonyoung’s eyes to fill with disgust.

They don’t. Wonwoo watches and watches, but nothing happens. He wonders if maybe Soonyoung didn’t hear him, but he must have. The only other person in the whole library is the librarian, and she’s sitting at her desk twenty feet away. There’s not even rain anymore; somehow in the middle of making his disaster of a crane, Wonwoo failed to notice its cessation. He wonders if he should just pretend he didn’t say anything, but before he has time to initiate a diversion, Soonyoung breaks into a laugh.

Wonwoo would be awed by his own accuracy in prediction if he weren’t so awed by the way Soonyoung’s face lights up. Had he not watched the transformation with his own eyes, he almost wouldn’t believe it was the same person. His face splits like clouds parting to reveal the sun, and sunglasses suddenly seem more fitting for today than an umbrella. Two rows of perfectly straight teeth, white and shiny, cheeks puffed out and eyes crinkled. There’s no question: that face was made to smile.

If Wonwoo had on one of those cameras that dogs sometimes wear, the ones that take pictures when their heartrates go up, he’s certain it’d be taking its life’s worth of shots right now. Soonyoung’s laugh is loud, hearty guffaws that bounce off the walls, and he makes no sign of stopping until the librarian all but sprints over to scold them, glaring at both of them from over the top of semicircular glasses.

“Sorry,” he whispers loudly once he’s calmed down, wiping a tear from his eye. She doesn’t look very convinced, but she stalks off anyway. Wonwoo can still feel her stare on them long after she’s resumed her seat. “That was pretty funny,” Soonyoung mumbles after a while, starting on the next crane.

“Really?” Wonwoo brightens up a lot on accident, and Soonyoung’s eyes widen a little at his sudden enthusiasm.

“Yeah,” Soonyoung agrees warily. “You know, you look a lot less scary when you smile.”

“Nobody ever tells me I’m funny,” Wonwoo tries to explain, and Soonyoung bends his head back to his work with a thin smile.

“I mean, it was funny in a lame way,” he clarifies, “but it was still funny.” Wonwoo beams. He’ll be rubbing this in his mom’s face when he gets home. Which he still has yet to do, and he doesn’t know how long he’s been in the library. A glance at his phone tells him too long.

“Crap,” he whispers, lifting his bag from the floor and slinging it over his shoulder so quickly that it bangs into his hip. “I have to go. Good luck with your cranes.”

“Nice meeting you, Wonwoo,” Soonyoung calls softly as he begins his retreat into the hall. “See you.” There’s something a little melancholy in the words, but Wonwoo’s more focused on how hectic the parking lot is about to be. As expected, he doesn’t make it onto the road for eighteen minutes.

It’s not that he’s hoping he’ll see Soonyoung in the library again or anything, but it’s definitely something that leads him to pass by the library once more the following day even though it’s not raining. Precisely like he was absolutely not hoping for, Soonyoung is sitting in there, all by himself at the table with his hands hidden behind his backpack. There’s a crane already poking its paper beak from behind the black bag, and something about that is what beckons Wonwoo to head into the library for the second day in a row.

“Hey.” Soonyoung looks more than faintly surprised when he hears Wonwoo’s voice, looking up from his half-finished crane like a lost dog. He definitely seems more astonished than happy, and Wonwoo wonders if it was even a good idea to come in and talk to him again.

“So I didn’t just hallucinate you,” he mutters softly, bobbing his head in a subtle nod to affirm his own statement. “Afternoon.” Wonwoo’s not sure if Soonyoung actually thought he might have imagined him or if he was just joking when he takes a seat, so he chooses to pretend he didn’t hear that.

“How many cranes did you make yesterday?” he asks instead, leaning forward a little to watch him fold. The paper today is patterned instead of plain shades, and he’s currently using a square adorned with little stars. 

“Twenty-six,” Soonyoung says without looking up. “I’ll finish fast if I can make that many every day.”

“Twenty-six? Wow,” Wonwoo says with a whistle. “How many of those did you do after you got home?”

“None,” Soonyoung says, then makes it abundantly clear when he says, “I made them all here.”

“Really?” Twenty-six isn’t a lot, but it also is. Considering the amount of time Soonyoung spends making each one, carefully aligning each fold and pressing down with firm fingertips in a straight line until the creases are exactly right, it’s outlandish to think he was here for anything less than an hour and a half, and it’s probably still too generous to say anywhere less than two hours at all. Maybe that’s got something to do with why he’s making cranes in the first place.

“Yeah,” Soonyoung agrees quietly, thoughtfully, unreadably. His eyes find Wonwoo for a brief second. “Do you wanna try to make one again today?”

“Well,” Wonwoo sighs, less than eager to screw up another perfectly fine sheet of origami paper, “I don’t want to waste any more of your paper.”

“I have a lot,” Soonyoung assures him, sliding a sheet over. “We’re talking, like, three more packs this size at home. It’s fine.” Wonwoo stares down at the cloud-patterned square with a mix of worry and apprehension, and Soonyoung snorts. “Are you nervous you’re gonna mess it up again?”

“Not really,” Wonwoo hums, gnawing at his bottom lip, “because I _know_ I’m gonna mess it up again. So I’m mainly just dreading the inevitable results.”

“Who knows?” Soonyoung says airily, sliding a flawless crane out in front of him. “You could make it perfectly.” Wonwoo tentatively lifts it and starts on the first fold, taking extra care to get the edges lined up this time. “I mean, you probably won’t, but you never know. Practice makes better.” Wonwoo quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything, instead transferring all his focus to the formation of the second crease.

The finished product is not much better than his abomination from the previous afternoon, and all he can bring himself to do is gaze at it in shame while Soonyoung cackles quietly, trying to evade the attention of the librarian. In some ways, the cloud pattern makes it better, because he can’t see as clearly how fudged the corners are, but it also makes it worse, because everyone in the whole world knows clouds aren’t supposed to have those kinds of wrinkles right in the middle. He sighs dejectedly, resting his chin in his hand, and Soonyoung offers him another piece of paper.

“I think you’ll get it,” is all he says.

Wonwoo’s only halfway into the new crane before he checks the time and remembers he had a dentist appointment that he’ll now be very close to being late to, and he springs up with a very hurried goodbye and shoves the paper into his pocket before it can become even more of a mess than it already is. When Wonwoo gets home, he finds that the partial attempt in his pocket has become crumpled beyond hopes of being finished, and then he realizes he left the complete bird at the library with Soonyoung. _Maybe it’s for the best_ , he tells himself.

He accidentally starts taking the path by the library every day, which leads him to accidentally going in every day and accidentally sitting with Soonyoung and accidentally staying way longer than he needs to and accidentally failing to make a crane that looks right. (In the list of all those accidents, the last thing is the only one Wonwoo really counts as a mistake.) His mom starts asking why he keeps coming home later and later, and he doesn’t know what to tell her aside from that he’s met a new friend. He doesn’t want to tell her that he’s only ever seen him in the library, that he’s never seen him leave, that he’s almost a little scared to leave him alone when he sees that sad look in his eyes, so he keeps those to himself.

It’s been two weeks since the first time they encountered each other, and Soonyoung has made 288 cranes, all in the comfort of the library. At this rate, he’ll be done in no time, and Wonwoo hates to say he almost doesn’t want him to finish, because he’s been working so hard on them, but that sounds too much like they won’t see each other anymore, and there’s an ache in the softest part of his chest when he considers it.

“Hey,” Wonwoo finally thinks to ask as he watches Soonyoung fold down the wings of a lilac crane, “what do you do with all of them, anyway?” Soonyoung hums, low but bright, and glances at either the window or the clock above the window; Wonwoo’s really distracted by the outline of the panes reflecting in his eyes, so he neglects to pay attention which.

“How late can you stay today?” Soonyoung asks instead of answering.

“I mean,” he shifts his gaze around awkwardly, eyes gliding over the tightly packed spines of books resting on the shelves, “I don’t have anywhere to be.” Soonyoung smiles a little smaller than Wonwoo would like him to, lips just barely curling.

“I’ll show you later, then, if you’ll stay for a while.” He grabs another sheet from the dwindling stack before him and thrusts it in Wonwoo’s direction purposefully. “In the meantime, you can keep working on trying to make a decent crane.” Wonwoo sighs.

Yes, that’s right. Even after two weeks of arduous labor, he still cannot fold paper to save his life. Soonyoung promises he’s improving, but Wonwoo can’t see what he’s talking about. They all look like balled-up garbage to him, no matter how many spots Soonyoung points out that aren’t quite as shoddy as the last time. Today is bound to be another spectacular display of incompetency, but he begrudgingly picks up the paper and sets to the careful task anyway because Soonyoung gets a kind of sheen over his eyes for just a split second every time Wonwoo makes an attempt, and that’s something Wonwoo is admittedly quite fond of.

It feels like eons before Soonyoung’s phone chirps and he informs Wonwoo that it’s time to leave the library. Wonwoo watches the sideways beginning of a sunset through the window with one eye and Soonyoung with the other, counting one by one as he finishes each crane. This leaves him with no eyes on his own work, which does not turn out well for the quality of the folding, but he consoles himself with the notion that he knew it was going to be a disaster anyway. He takes his hideous monster with him when they leave today, carefully pinching its wing between his thumb and forefinger so he doesn’t screw it up any more than he already has.

Soonyoung leads them on a short trip through the hallway and to his locker, which is very close to the library, and opens the door carefully, numerous cranes balanced atop his arms with a precise gentleness that says he does this a lot. When he pulls the door open, Wonwoo sees nothing inside but cranes and cranes and cranes, way too many little paper birds to lay his eyes on at once. There doesn’t seem to be anything else inside, and even though Soonyoung’s only crafted about a quarter of his ultimate goal, the locker looks pretty full.

“That’s a lot of cranes,” Wonwoo states dumbly as Soonyoung places the latest batch on the cluster. “I don’t think you’re gonna be able to fit all 1000 in here, though.”

“I will,” Soonyoung says back a little too defensively. “They’ll fit better once I have them on their strings… I just haven’t gotten any strings yet.”

“Why are you putting them on strings?”

“I don’t know,” he says with a shrug. “You’re just supposed to put them on strings.” He swings the locker door back and forth absentmindedly. “I’ll be damned if I don’t get to have my wish and/or luck because I didn’t put them on strings.”

“I guess that’s fair,” Wonwoo says, and he’d really like to ask again why exactly Soonyoung is so in need of a wish, but he’s not sure that two weeks of fumbling around with paper squares while sitting a few feet away and making muted conversation qualifies him to ask. He wonders if it’s got anything to do with how he stays in the library for hours every single day after school and reasons that those things are probably very much related. Soonyoung rips his eyes suddenly from the birds over to Wonwoo, and there’s an expression on his face that makes it seem like he can read Wonwoo’s mind, a curve to his mouth that makes it seem like he’ll explain.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess,” he says instead, easing the door shut with a gentle clack. Wonwoo nods and walks toward the student parking lot while Soonyoung splits in the opposite direction, feet dragging across the ugly tile with muffled squeaks. Wonwoo realizes when he arrives at his car that that’s the first time he’s ever seen Soonyoung outside the library.

Wonwoo does see him tomorrow, of course. And the next day, and every day after that, so long as they’re in school and there’s a library for them to meet in. It’s another two weeks later and Soonyoung’s finished precisely 534 cranes. Wonwoo has started staying later every day to help him take the cranes to his locker even though his mom won’t stop pestering him over why he’s been getting home when the sun’s already set. (It’s never already set. Wonwoo tells her she’s overdramatizing.) The bite of fall is starting to really settle into the air, and Wonwoo is sure there’s no way Soonyoung is going to get this next bunch of cranes to fit into his locker without crushing them.

“Hey,” he comments suddenly, jarring Wonwoo out of a slight daze, “your folds look really good so far.”

“Do they?” Wonwoo asks. He’ll admit he wasn’t paying much attention, but when he glances at the paper in his hand, he’s inclined to agree. They actually line up for once, and the sight alone is so beautiful it nearly draws a tear. He pushes back the growing hope that maybe he might actually get it right this time, but that doesn’t save him from being unbelievably let down when he messes it up in the end anyway. His only consolations are these: 1) that he can actually see a perceptible improvement from his past crane attempts, and 2) the sound of Soonyoung’s laughter ringing softly through the still air.

“So,” Soonyoung says, “I finally brought the strings today, if you want to help me put all the cranes on.” He looks a little nervous, but Wonwoo can’t put his finger on why. “It might take a while,” he says after an uneasy pause, and Wonwoo bites back a chuckle at the last minute. He’s not about to start minding how much time things take out of the blue.

“Yeah, I’ll help you,” he says warmly, lips spreading into a grin. “There’s a lot of cranes.”

Soonyoung beams back, sparkly and big, and Wonwoo thinks it’s a little bizarre how he only had to see that once to know it’s probably his favorite sight in the world. If he had more guts, he might tell Soonyoung he’d love it if he would smile like that more, but something about _Hey man, I feel a little bit more alive when I see you smile, and I think it would be swell if you’d do it more so I could thereby feel like my heart is beating for something_ is a tad more forward than he’s comfortable with.

“You really do have a great smile,” Soonyoung says at length, and Wonwoo expels one hearty guffaw because he should honestly be the one paying that compliment. Soonyoung shoots him a quizzical glance, but he’s spared from having to explain by the heavy glare of the librarian from her corner desk.

Soonyoung rises and starts leading them to his locker before his phone has perpetuated its typical chirp, long before it usually does so, and Wonwoo feels like they’re breaking some secret ritual by going out into the hallway too early, but he follows anyway because Soonyoung doesn’t look like he really gives a shit about the unspoken ritual. Wonwoo must have just imagined it.

When they reach the locker, Soonyoung swings the door open and makes very deliberate eye contact with Wonwoo before sweeping all the cranes unceremoniously onto the floor. Without a word, he plops down next to the mountain of birds and whips out a needle and a few beads and several lengths of string. Wonwoo sits down beside him and watches quietly, unsure of how exactly he’s supposed to be helping with this, and Soonyoung seems to pick up on the awkwardness because he pulls out another needle from thin air and hands it to Wonwoo along with a length of string and a bead.

“Forty cranes go on one string,” he explains, and those are the last few words that echo in the hall before they set to work threading the cranes on carefully.

They definitely seem like they’ll take up less space organized like this, and Wonwoo is trying really hard to focus on that and not the nerves knotting up in his stomach over their continued silence, but as with crane-making, he is doing a decidedly less than stellar job. “I just realized,” he accidentally says somewhere in the middle of his third string of cranes before he’s fleshed out the way the sentence is going to end. Soonyoung looks up from his task, hands pausing. He’s already finished four strings, and Wonwoo burns with twin flames of amazement and envy. “You could already be done by now if I could have made half decent cranes and helped you out,” he finishes sheepishly. Soonyoung’s lips quirk up in a dry grin, but he just shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says, “I don’t think the cranes count if I don’t make them myself, and I’m not taking any chances.” He pushes a few more onto the string with a gentle touch. “But how very _sweet_ of you to think of that only after I have already finished over 500 of them.” Wonwoo scowls at his string as he shoves cranes onto it, cheeks coloring, and Soonyoung cackles raucously as he wraps up string number five. “I’m just kidding,” he says after far too long, face resettling to a more neutral expression, though his lips retain the slightest of curves. “I appreciate you staying with me every day and helping me put the cranes on the strings right now. Even if you’re slower than molasses on the back of a snail at a stop sign in January 10 miles north of Santa’s workshop.”

“Actually,” Wonwoo begins, eyebrows raised in begrudging acknowledgement of the excessively involved jab, “can I ask why it is you stay in the library for so long every day?” Soonyoung sighs and Wonwoo wants to take it back; this is probably a sore spot that he shouldn’t have hazarded to prod. “Sorry,” he adds quickly, “you don’t have to tell me. That was nosy. Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Soonyoung says flatly, “I’ll tell you. You’re wondering if it’s got anything to do with why I’m folding the cranes in the first place, right?”

“Damn, you’re good.” A tiny light flickers in the backs of Soonyoung’s eyes, but it doesn’t quite make it down to the rest of his face.

“It does,” he states plainly, fingers fiddling with the delicate wings of an indigo crane he’s pushing onto the string. “It’s my dad. He can never come get me until pretty late because he has work.” Wonwoo’s mental train is starting down the rails toward the conclusion that Soonyoung’s wish is something along the lines of his dad not having to work so late, but Soonyoung throws a brick and hits one of those levers that switches the path of the tracks. “He hates me,” says Soonyoung’s brick, “and I know he only hates me even more because he has to pick me up all the time, but we don’t live close enough for the bus to come by. All the rezoning.” He looks at Wonwoo sort of expectantly, but that can’t be the whole explanation.

“Oh,” is all he says, and maybe it’s all the questions in his eyes that push Soonyoung to keep going.

“Yeah,” Soonyoung continues, “and my mom moved back home to take care of my grandma a few months ago, so it’s just us. She said she didn’t want to ruin my life by uprooting me, but I hate it.” He chews on his bottom lip a while, and Wonwoo’s sure the way he’s gnawing at it probably hurts. “I can’t stand being at home. I just want her to come home. I want her to be here so I don’t have to dread going home after school.”

“So… that’s your wish? For her to come home?”

“I guess,” Soonyoung sighs. His eyes are a little lost and a little misty, and they’re locked on the crane that he picks up and slides halfheartedly onto his string. “I just want to be happy again. My dad never hated me before she was gone, or he didn’t act like it, at least. Things’ll be better if she comes back.” Another crane finds its way slowly onto the string with the rest of its friends. The pile between the two of them is dwindling. “And even if I don’t get a wish, maybe I can at least get some luck. Maybe I’ll find twenty bucks on the ground and I can buy some new headphones and drown everything out.” The way Soonyoung’s eyes are hard and fixed unwaveringly on the completed strings gives the distinct vibe that this is something he doesn’t like talking about.

“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo says, licking his lips nervously, “for asking.” Soonyoung shrugs and dons a fake little smile that Wonwoo doesn’t have the heart to look at.

“It’s okay,” he assures him. “It’s actually really nice that you care enough to ask. I just… I don’t know.” A dry chuckle escapes him. “Sorry for bringing the mood down.”

“You can come hang out with me, if you want,” he says without thinking, and he gulps when Soonyoung snaps his eyes up to meet his own. “I mean, if you want.” He mentally kicks his own shins for saying _if you want_ twice. “I can take you home. I have a car.” Nervousness sets in deeply in the few seconds Soonyoung’s gaze spends roaming his face. “Well, I guess it’s kind of late now and your dad might already be on the way to get you.”

Soonyoung picks his phone up off the floor and taps the screen awake. “He probably hasn’t left yet,” he says. “I could still text him and tell him he doesn’t have to come. He’d probably like that.” He poises his thumbs over the keyboard hesitantly. “If you were serious, I mean.”

“Yeah, totally.” Wonwoo tries to suppress the excitement budding in his voice, but he doesn’t think he’s doing a great job. “I was totally serious.”

“Okay,” Soonyoung says, and Wonwoo would like to think he sounds a little excited, too. “I’ll text him, and then we can hurry and finish putting these cranes on their dumb strings.”

And they do just that. The second the message has been released to travel through the airwaves to Soonyoung’s dad’s phone, he flies into a frenzy, making quick work of the remaining cranes and leaving Wonwoo the completely dumbfounded holder of the incomplete string. _It needs seven more_ , he reminds himself as they walk out to the parking lot. _Seven more or it’s all fucked_. There’s something of a skip in Soonyoung’s step as they bound over poorly painted lines, and a little of it is starting to spread to Wonwoo by the time they’re close enough to unlock the vehicle.

Wonwoo wishes he would have thought to throw out all the Pop-Tart wrappers crumpled on the passenger side floor, but it’s far too late for such regrets when Soonyoung climbs in and he hears them make that horrendous crackling noise as Soonyoung slams his feet down unknowingly. He visibly restrains a chuckle when he sees Wonwoo cringe at the noise, trying to ground his feet firmly in place to prevent further crunching but instead only intensifying it. Wonwoo groans and turns the key in the ignition, revving the engine to life with a loud rumble that it probably shouldn’t be making. At least it hasn’t died on him yet.

Despite not really giving the vibe of someone who listens to the pop station on the radio, Soonyoung warbles diligently the entire ride to Wonwoo’s house, not missing out on a single note even when he doesn’t know the actual lyrics. Wonwoo contemplates rolling the window down to blow some of the heat out of his face, but even he is quick enough to realize that rolling the window down when it’s colder than death outside might come off as a little more than a tad suspicious. Besides, Soonyoung’s voice is actually pretty nice, and he wouldn’t want to drown it out with the sound of wind.

“Here we are,” Wonwoo says as they arrive. He mentally kicks his own shins again, because _why else would you be pulling into a driveway, you dumbass_ , and brings the car to a halt just behind his mother’s. Soonyoung wears an excited smile on his face, and despite Wonwoo’s sudden recollection that his bedroom floor hasn’t been picked up in at least a month, he’s thrilled at his own unintentional decision to invite Soonyoung over.

“You’re home so late _again_ ,” comes a voice as they pass through the front door, and Wonwoo’s mom glances over tiredly from where she sits on the couch, eyebrows raising when she takes a headcount of the number of young men entering her home and has to go past one. “Who’s this?” she asks, and her voice is much brighter this time, sitting up straighter and turning more of her body to face the pair.

“This is my send Froonyoung,” he says, and _good god,_ his mental shins are really taking a beating today. “My friend Soonyoung,” he corrects, but Soonyoung is already snickering beside him, so he just stalks forward and takes his shoes off. “We hang out at the library after school usually.”

“Hi,” Soonyoung says brightly, “it’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” she says, then, “Are you the reason my son keeps coming home so late?” Wonwoo shoots her a look that very distinctly says _why would you ask it like that_ , but she doesn’t seem to notice, and Soonyoung doesn’t seem to mind the question.

“Yeah,” he says with a single dry chuckle, “I guess.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels, shifting his gaze to the ceiling. “He keeps me company while I wait for my dad to come pick me up.” His eyes flit back down, mouth spreading in a smile that appears to be both forced and genuine in the same breath. “He’s really nice.”

Wonwoo turns away to pretend he isn’t extremely close to blushing, but judging by the way his mother hums in response, he’s not succeeding at masking anything. “Well, it’s a pleasure to have you over. Do you think you’ll be staying for dinner?”

“Uh, I don’t know. I’ll have to ask my dad.”

“Just let me know if you are.” She eyes her son curiously. “So are you—”

“Well, we’re gonna go hang out in my room now,” Wonwoo interrupts loudly, “so I guess we’ll see you later.” She raises her eyebrows.

“But your room is a mess. You can stay out here in the living room.”

“No, my room is, like, immaculate, actually,” Wonwoo lies very boldly, trundling over to the stairs. “So we’ll hang out in there.” Soonyoung trails behind him briskly after kicking off his shoes, and once they’ve arrived at his bedroom, Wonwoo closes his door just hard enough to make sure his mom knows that it is very shut and he doesn’t want her barging in to interrogate them.

“Now,” Soonyoung begins, “I won’t mention that your room is a total mess, but is there a reason you don’t want to talk to your mom?”

“You are aware that, by mentioning you’re not mentioning it, you’re actually mentioning it, correct?”

“Very.” Wonwoo sighs.

“Yeah, I know. Leave me alone.” He flops heavily on his bed and kicks some of the shirts on the floor closer to the hamper. “I love my mom, but she really likes to ask questions. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” It’s not entirely false, but it would be a true fib to say he’s not doing it for his own sake as well.

“How considerate of you,” he drawls with a goofy smile on his face, taking a seat among the piles of debris littering the carpet. His fingers patter against the floor for a few minutes while he absentmindedly takes stock of the room around him, and Wonwoo slowly becomes insecure about the crooked posters on the walls that he was too lazy to straighten. “So,” he begins after what feels like years, “what are we going to do?” Wonwoo maintains a heated staring contest with the doorknob for a while before answering.

“I’ll be honest,” he says at last, “I didn’t really think that far. I just thought it would be fun if you came over.” Pressing his lips into a line, he takes a gander around his room. “We can watch a movie on my computer, if you want. I have the SpongeBob movie.” Soonyoung shrugs.

“I like the SpongeBob movie.” His thumbs fidget a little, sweeping the carpet the wrong way. “Hey, uh, is it okay if I tell my dad I’m gonna have dinner here?”

Wonwoo blinks a few times slowly, unsure if he heard correctly. “Yeah, of course,” he says, baffled. “As long as it’s okay with your dad, it’s okay with me. I didn’t invite you over because I wanted you to not be here.”

“Yeah,” Soonyoung guesses, “just to give me some time away from my dad, right?”

“Well, kinda. But I also just like you.” Wonwoo’s eyes grow wide as he pointedly does not look at Soonyoung. “Spending time with you,” he amends hastily. “I like spending time with you.” Soonyoung chuckles lightly, pulling his attention away. When Wonwoo’s eyes fall on him again, his fingers are hurriedly tapping out a text message.

“I like you, too,” he says boldly, and Wonwoo is not sure if the connotations are what he wants them to be or if he’s just a hopeful little paper bird who’s got itself convinced it can learn to fly. Looking up from his phone screen with a wide smile, Soonyoung continues with, “So, let’s get to that SpongeBob movie.”

Soonyoung is a goofy goober; at least, that’s what he proclaims in perfect sync with SpongeBob himself at all occasions within the film upon which he says so. He also sings along to every song like he’s under scrutiny and replicates the knee-slapping segment with incredible accuracy; Wonwoo wonders just how many times he’s seen this movie. Once the credits have begun rolling, he opens his mouth to ask, but his mother’s voice calls them to dinner at that precise moment, so he tucks it away for later.

After a vaguely uncomfortable dinner during which Wonwoo attempts at every turn to steer his mom away from asking questions, Soonyoung declares he’d probably better go home, so the two head back out to the car to get started on the drive. He lives a good way farther down in the same direction Wonwoo lives, and even though he spends the whole duration of the ride singing again, Wonwoo can’t help but feel like it’s too quiet in the car.

Soonyoung directs him down different streets when they start getting close, and when they finally pull up in front of the house, Wonwoo gets some kind of feeling like the drive still isn’t over and he still has something to say and it’s still too soon to say goodbye. His chest feels like it’s made of cardstock.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Soonyoung says out of the blue, unbuckling his seatbelt. He turns to Wonwoo with a slightly subdued form of his most beautiful smile. The cardstock is starting to feel a little more like notebook paper. “I like you.” He holds his hand up halfway between them awkwardly and Wonwoo grabs it without thinking, sliding his fingers between Soonyoung’s on impulse.

“I like you,” Wonwoo says, giving a light squeeze, and he’s not entirely sure whether he’s saying it back or making sure that’s what he heard in the first place. Soonyoung gives a squeeze in return.

“Thanks for inviting me over,” he says before making his exit from the vehicle. Wonwoo stares at the steering wheel for a full minute with his warmer hand pressed to his cheek. Someone’s ripped that piece of notebook paper into a square, folded it into a bird, and now it’s flying away.

Wonwoo doesn’t remember asking or being asked, but Soonyoung winds up procuring another ride and coming over to his house again the next day. Always a man of forethought, he completely neglected to consider this possibility at all, so his room is in the exact same state of disarray as it had been previously. After he takes Soonyoung home, though, he makes certain to clean it up; just as well, because he starts coming over almost every day.

It becomes a new part of their afternoon routine, Soonyoung coming over and getting a ride home instead of waiting on his dad. There’s no reason for them to stay in the library for three hours anymore with this being the case, but they still do it. Something about sitting at that library table and silently folding paper squares just seems like the right thing to do, so they sit there arbitrarily, now waiting on Soonyoung to reach his predetermined daily quota instead of his dad to announce his arrival.

The temperatures outside are dropping even lower and they’re nearing the end of the 800’s in the number of cranes Soonyoung has produced. Wonwoo is very proud of how far he’s come with his crane-making abilities, even if it still takes him three times as long as it takes Soonyoung and it doesn’t look half as good. Something is bittersweet about sitting in the library on this particular Thursday afternoon, and Wonwoo thinks it’s probably because he can count the number of days they’ll be spending together making cranes on one hand. He sets his imperfect bird down on the table in front of him and watches Soonyoung’s fingers as they press down on a crease, tries not to think about that one time they sort of held hands and then didn’t really talk about it. Soonyoung finishes the crane and sets it delicately beside its brethren.

“Ready to go?”

Wonwoo’s mom is out meeting a colleague for dinner or something, so the living room is safe to stay in when they get home. Instructions sit on the counter telling how to make a frozen pizza (“I’ve made one before,” Wonwoo grumbles irately), and they stick it in the oven and settle down on the couch to play Mario Party with a few computers on the _Brutal_ difficulty level just to add to the tension.

When all the pizza is gone and they’re both starting to grow weary of getting their asses massively beat by the computers, Soonyoung clears his throat a little and sets his controller on his lap tentatively. Wonwoo is a little embarrassed by how fast he turns to look at him, but that doesn’t keep him from looking anyway. “Yesterday,” he begins, “my dad asked me why I never come home with him anymore.”

Wonwoo gulps hard. Something about the way Soonyoung is staring resolutely at the paused game screen isn’t very comforting. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him I know he doesn’t want me there,” he says plainly, quietly, “and I’ve been spending time with someone who actually likes to spend time with me.” Wonwoo gulps again, but he’s not really sure why this time.

“What did he say?” he asks hesitantly.

“He apologized.” Soonyoung finally looks away from the television, and his eyes are deep and swirling and confused, relieved and wary at the same time. “He told me he’s sorry he made me think he doesn’t want me around and he’s sad that my mom is gone too and he wishes he knew how to deal with things better so I wouldn’t have to worry.” He lets out a heavy exhale. “He told me he really loves me and he’s sorry.”

“Well,” Wonwoo ventures cautiously, “that’s good, right?”

“Yeah,” Soonyoung says, “it’s great. I was just… surprised, I guess.” He sets one hand down on the cushions between them, leaning a little closer. “I wanted to tell you because I feel like you helped, kind of. More than kind of.” His cheeks puff out a little in a broad smile. “I also just wanted you to know.”

With trepidation, Wonwoo brings a slightly tremulous hand to rest atop Soonyoung’s, pads of his fingers brushing gently over knuckles. His eyes are locked on his own hand, and when he blinks and looks back up, Soonyoung’s face is close, too close. He doesn’t know if he accidentally leaned in or if Soonyoung intentionally leaned in, but he won’t back up; instead, he just stares at his eyelashes, framing pretty, sparkly eyes that threaten to shut at the hands of a growing smile. Wonwoo breathes in to say something, and right before he can, Soonyoung kisses him.

Secondhand freezer pizza has never tasted so good. It’s never been so soft, either, or so gently warm. It’s certainly never made him feel like his heart was full of fireworks and his lungs were made of tissue paper like he feels right now. His eyes fall shut and he can feel his grip getting a little too firm over Soonyoung’s hand, but his head is so full of sparklers that he can’t remember how to relax it. As soon as Soonyoung pulls away, his eyes snap open to find a beaming mug just inches from his own.

“I like you,” Soonyoung says softly.

“How many times have you seen the SpongeBob movie?” Wonwoo gargles noisily at the exact same time. What an excellent time to remember this perfectly inane question. He’ll be lacing up some steel-toed boots today for the mental kicking of his shins.

“Twenty-three,” Soonyoung fires back without hesitation. Wonwoo gawks. “Did you hear me?”

“Did I hear you?”

“I like you,” he repeats, and Wonwoo sucks a breath in through his nose.

“Oh,” he says quietly. “Yeah. I heard you.” Soonyoung raises his eyebrows.

“And?”

“I like you.” Wonwoo nods to reassure himself. “Too. I like you, too.”

“That’s a relief,” Soonyoung says. His eyes are crinkled merrily when he moves forward again.

“You boys seem to be having a great time,” Wonwoo’s mother says when she arrives home and enters the living room to find the pair on the couch. They spring apart immediately, and Wonwoo bashes his head against the arm of the sofa.

“ _We were talking_ ,” he almost shouts before she can make any accusations or ask any questions, conspicuously wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Talking sure has changed since I was a kid,” she muses. “Good to see you again, Soonyoung.”

“Good to see you again, too,” he responds sheepishly, not quite able to make eye contact. “But I should probably be getting home soon.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo concurs, rising. “He should probably be getting home soon. We’re gonna go.” She eyes them curiously for a moment before sighing and turning to head toward her bedroom.

“Drive safe,” she calls back behind her. “Don’t talk too much on the road.” Wonwoo groans.

The final day of crane-making arrives very soon, and it seems so sudden even though Wonwoo knows they’ve been doing nothing but inching toward it since they met each other in the first place. Stale library air hums with finality when Soonyoung folds the wings of the last one down and meets Wonwoo’s eyes, and their feet drag when they wander through the hallway to his locker, full nearly to bursting with nothing but cranes. Soonyoung threads the final crane onto the last string, a deep blue with shimmery gold lines tracing over it, and they stand back together to watch, breath held.

Wonwoo doesn’t know what he was expecting to happen. Maybe he thought some glowing god would descend from above the ceiling, touch right down in front of the open locker on sacred feet and ask Soonyoung what his greatest wish is. Maybe he thought the cranes themselves would burst into life, tear themselves from their tethers and fly off in a blindingly colorful frenzy. Maybe he thought Soonyoung would change somehow, undergo some internal shift and sparkle like a star beside him.

Regardless of what his expectations were, none of them are fulfilled. Nothing happens. They stand and watch and wait for what feels like an eternity, but nothing happens. One of the custodial staff rounds a corner and eyes them suspiciously for a few minutes before continuing to mop, and they take that as their cue to leave.

A substantial stack of paper still remains after all the birds have come into being, so when they get back to Wonwoo’s house, he decides that he’ll try one last time to make a good one, just for kicks. Soonyoung does it alongside him, very slowly, coaching him through each fold carefully and doing absolutely as much as possible without touching the paper himself. The crane Soonyoung folds is pale yellow, and it looks perfect. The crane Wonwoo folds is spring green, and it looks just as perfect.

Well, it almost looks just as perfect. The head looks kind of weird—it didn’t push out right when he folded it for some reason—so calling it _perfect_ isn’t the whole truth, but as far as Wonwoo is concerned, its imperfections are negligible. He hoists it up in the air proudly, beaming at Soonyoung. “I did it!” he crows, ecstatic. Soonyoung thrusts his fist into the air.

“You really did,” he buzzes, face split by a grin. His eyes find the middle distance wistfully. “And they said he’d never learn.”

“‘They’ being who, exactly?”

“You.” He smirks broadly and Wonwoo sets the crane down on the table beside Soonyoung’s. They look cute beside each other, a little pair that seems right in one another’s company.

“I’m sorry the cranes weren’t as climactic as we thought they would be,” Wonwoo sighs apologetically. There’s the vague feeling that it’s his fault nothing happened even though he knows it was somewhat foolish to expect anything to happen to begin with. Soonyoung shakes his head.

“You can feel that way about it,” he says, “but I don’t.” Another one of those earth-shattering, universe-encompassing grins. Wonwoo’s chest never has enough room to handle it. “Besides,” he picks up his crane and places it so one of its wings overlaps with Wonwoo’s, “I think I got my luck.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank u so much for reading!! i've never written this pair before so i wasn't really sure how to approach it but i hope i did it well enough that i won't be burned in effigy. backstory on this fic is that i really like folding paper cranes (i am bad at it tho) and i wanted to incorporate that into a fic somehow, so i used soonwoo for it. anyway, i truly hope u enjoyed, and as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!!


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